In-between moments.
Off-transit, a mere step away from ‘some’ change.
It ought to be what I least expect—in the moment, or in hindsight.
I took a flight, from off bay—
a leap away from depth, cut a limb-off my rationale;
sterilised myself for the upcoming event.
I went over all that I stood for, and a few ways to kill nuance.
In-between moments, I questioned the validity of it all,
wondering how the next day would fall.
My appetite died by night, sensing the the big day ahead,
I didn't catch any sleep, stayed up—
reading in-memory all foreign letters that I'd received
that were put away after paying a month's worth of mind at best—
ruminating all the ways that I could draft a similar letter,
in-person, next day, to suffice for what bad faith I carried, and its extent.
Soon enough, the solace and the night too bid farewell.
I walked out for the final transit with tearing, burning eyes,
fetched a meal in the morning, and for lunch,
and collected some generic gifts along the way.
I looked outside towards the only flourishing being around—
the nature, unaffected by settlements of the town.
Everyone in the car couldn't help but rot,
my face too started to melt—I coughed blood a few times,
my hair disheveled, my ironed clothes wrinkled, which car wrought.
Atlast, when every transit had been seen through,
I saw that which I must possess, all sickness shriveled as I encountered
my mirrored-self.
I smiled, we started to walk by the lakeside—
a few steps ahead, I turned in the cheque.
For long I’d despised whoever barged the fence, mark authority
when a choice had to be made.
When was it that I started to seek solace in keeping my leanings vague—
leave myself to abandon, for the mere act of having some stake?
The evening atlast, was worth all the bruises, and scars, and blood-clots—
even if the dust settled at the lake.
Things that come-by this fast, rarely last—even if those scarce-two hours
were spent in seldom laughs.
Back in the hotel I took coffee as dinner, keep my stay here short,
I went through the day.
Mirrors often fill in the scars—
I revoked their sovereignty, by the slightest-little bit every couple steps,
just as I’d been stripped of mine, even if it for a mere-two hours.
As some familial sense came back, along with depth—
I wished nothing more in that bed than to abandon my race, my skin, my face—
and everything that I’d been taught to carry since birth,
I wished to be perpetually sterile, void all human ties, and be seen from the perspective
of my mind.
“Fascist! Fascist! Fascist!”